The First Annual Hunger Games
by CrookedRach
Summary: The Dark Days are over. The districts have returned to their working states, but a few are still defiant to the wishes of the Capitol. President Nero has a plan to force the citizens of Panem into submission. With no precedent for such a punishment, how will the people of Panem react? Having grown up in a time of violence and war, how will the tributes fare in the arena?
1. Prologue: The Solution

_Morning/afternoon/evening._

_This is my first time writing a fanfiction in around five years, so I'm hoping it's not absolutely awful. I'm planning on this fic being the length of a full length novel and will be posting new chapters at least weekly._

_Please review- constructive criticism is always appreciated!_

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Quintillian Nero sat at his desk, his chin resting on his clasped hands. He stared intently at the hologram displayed before him; a hellish scene of fire and explosions. Amongst the flames, shadows could be seen. Some running, some lying still on the ground. Others were being beaten by imposing silhouettes in identical white uniforms. Nero watched as one of the white figures raised a baton and brought it down on the head of one of the cowering creatures, hard. Nero smiled.

There came a knock at the door.

"Enter." He uttered, not looking up from the devastation that emanated from his mahogany desk.

After a short pause, the door opened, slowly. A tall, slender woman stepped into the room, her hands fiddling nervously with the hem of her skirt.

"Your guests are here, Mr. President." Nero raised his eyes and silently surveyed the trembling woman who stood opposite him. She was new. His previous assistant had met an unpleasant end when the District 13 rebels had attempted to storm his offices. An unfortunate loss-it had taken Nero years to train her to prepare him a decent coffee. He had very select tastes. The new assistant fidgeted uncomfortably under the President's stony gaze. She was afraid of him. Good, that was a start. After a few more moments, Nero spoke.

"Send them in," the President advised. The woman nodded and turned to leave, her relief visible. "And Coral…" The assistant froze, her shoulders tensing. Nero suppressed a grin as the woman looked over her shoulder. He pointed to the mug of coffee on his desk. "I don't take sugar."

A few minutes later, a small group of imposing individuals clad in all-white uniforms were seated in a tight semi-circle in front of the president's desk.

"I would imagine that you are wondering why I have gathered you here today," Nero mused from behind his desk. "The rebellion has almost been extinguished. District 13 has been obliterated. The Agitators have been executed. Most of the districts have returned to their working state." The president paused to collect the visitors in his measured gaze. "And yet…" He pushed his chair back and stood, hands gripping the lapels of his suit jacket.

"There are still murmurs of dissidence trickling out from a few of the districts. Every day there comes news of yet another small rebellion; workers in Nine stealing grain, miners in Twelve refusing to work…and today citizens of District One took it upon themselves to withhold produce. _District One_." He slammed his fist down on the desk. With a wave of his other hand over the projector, the recording that had been playing earlier cast itself into the semi-circle. Each of the faces in the room watched the recording, some with an expression of fear, others of disgust—most of anger.

"If even District One, one of our closest allies, is starting to turn against us, just imagine the turmoil brewing in the outlying districts." Nero sank into his chair and gathered his emotions. With a fluid motion of his right hand, he extinguished the projection. "You better have some earth-shatteringly (just as an explanation, one hyphen is used to separate two words that are meant to be together, and two hyphens are to create a pause—do not put a space after the hyphens.) brilliant solutions to this little problem."

An uneasy silence was held for a few seconds. One of the uniformed figures cleared its throat.

"Mass executions?"

Nero sighed and fixed the speaker with a glare. He was on the far right, rather scrawny compared to the rest of the cohort. Like a rat, Nero thought. "Have we not been performing mass executions since before the rebellions began?" The man in white didn't reply. The president raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Y…yes?" replied the rat man.

"And have they made any discernible dent on the wilfulness of the Districts?"

"N-no, Sir."

"No. And why is that?" the President opened the question out to the rest of the room.

"It just spurs them on. Makes them more determined," a female voice from the center of the group.

"Indeed, Ms. Ayser." conceded Nero. "As Peacekeepers, it is your job to keep the peace, as the title would suggest. You have not been fulfilling this role recently. This is your last opportunity." He gave Ms. Ayser a meaningful stare, his voice suddenly losing its usual gloss of benevolent concern. "If we have not devised a solution by the close of this meeting, you will not be leaving this room alive." Willow Ayser shifted uncomfortably in her seat. More silence.

"Ms. Ayser, as you are Head Peacekeeper, I will be looking to you to formulate a suitable plan. I am sure you will try your hardest." Nero leaned back into his chair.

"Yes, Sir," replied Willow confidently. If she was nervous, there was no sign of it in her expression. "What we need is some way to show the citizens in the Districts that we have absolute power. Some way to destroy their high spirits indefinitely."

"And some way to keep the Capitol contented," chimed in a third Peacekeeper. Nero listened, expressionless.

"The children," interjected a fourth. "We could execute their children." Ayser frowned.

"We're trying to squash a rebellion, not ignite one. The District people would die for their children."

"True," replied the fourth speaker, "but what if we removed their power completely? Took the children out of their districts and forced them to kill each other? We could televise it live in the Districts."

"I like the thinking, Flavius, but I think that would still lead to an uprising… and even the citizens of the Capitol would be enraged watching children slaughter each other on live TV…" mused Ayser.

"Make it a game—a reality show. The last kid standing wins their life." suggested a fifth Peacekeeper. There was silence while the group considered the possibility. All but forgotten, Nero remained behind his desk, the hint of a smile tickling the corners of his mouth.

"That could work…" Ayser was suddenly animated. "Really play on the reality show element. A big event, like a holiday of sorts. Force the citizens to sacrifice their children to the Capitol and treat them like heroes. Make them celebrate the death of their own offspring. Give them hope that they might return…Yes…Yes! That could work!"

Nero cleared his throat. Ayser started.

"I trust that you will be able to make the suitable preparations to hold these…these "_hunger games_" in three months time?" inquired the President, face once again completely blank.

"That's not enough time!" protested Ayser. "There's so much to-" Nero narrowed his eyes. "-do…" Ayser bit her lip. "But I'm sure we'll be ready."

"Excellent." murmured Nero, to himself more than to his company. "Make the announcement during tonight's news. Thank you for your time. You are excused."

The Peacekeepers stood to leave, and one by one filed out of the office, until only Willow remained.

"Willow," uttered Nero.

"Yes, Sir?" replied the head peacekeeper.

"I am holding you entirely responsible for the success of these games. If they have their intended effect, you will be rewarded greatly. If not, you will suffer the consequences."

Willow swallowed. "Yes, Sir. I'm sure the games will be sufficient to placate the Districts. You have my word."

"Good." Again, Willow turned to leave. "And Willow?" called the President of Panem.

"Yes, Sir?"

"May the odds be ever in your favour."


	2. Chapter 1: The Announcement

The sun was setting over the crop fields of District 9. It dipped below the horizon, dyeing the skyline an ominous shade of red. A shrill whistle pierced the tranquility of the landscape, interrupting the melodious song of the birds that rested in the trees.

Startled by the signal, Phox Jardine dropped the basket that she'd spent the day trying to fill with wheat. The grains cascaded out of the upturned basket in a river of amber. Phox cursed. As she bent to try and rake whatever bits of wheat she could rescue back into the basket, she was distracted by a small thump that seemed to have come from the ground somewhere in front of her. She looked up.

A few feet away, standing only a few inches tall, rested a mockingjay. It eyed her inquisitively, its head cocked to one side and its azure feathers rippling in the breeze that tickled the fields. She watched it, mesmerised. It boldly hopped a few steps closer to her, and lowered its head to the ground. When it raised it again, she saw that it held a single grain of wheat in the tip of its beak. The Capitol's wheat. It eyed her for a few seconds longer, before unfurling its wings and ascending into the crimson sky. Phox stood, spilling the few handfuls of grain she had gathered, and watched it disappear back into the treetops.

Phox had never seen a mockingjay up close before. She had heard stories about them from the Agitators in her district, before they were executed, and listened to their songs while working in the crop fields…but she had always just assumed that the songs were just from regular mockingbirds, and that the stories were yet another propaganda myth that had been churned out by the war machine—a way for the rebels to further discredit the Capitol. And yet there it was; absolute proof that the Capitol was not infallible—That they made mistakes, not everything was under their control. Phox smiled.

She abandoned what was left of the grain and swung the half empty basket onto her head. It was a long walk back to the harvest barns. Around her, women began to emerge from the wheat stalks, heaving their baskets onto their heads, most bent double from the weight. Many of the older women had permanent curves in their spines from hauling the dead weight of the crops from field to barn day after day, year after year. Despite the abundance of food that surrounded them, most were whittled figures with empty stomachs and hollowed eyes. Since the beginning of the rebellion, the Capitol had cut rations even further; women with families and children to care for would go without food for days, just to keep their loved ones from going hungry. It didn't stop at least five children dying of malnutrition every month.

"Phox…" crooned a voice from behind her. She grinned, recognising the voice without even needed to look at the speaker.

"Evening, Aggie," replied Phox, a smile in her voice. "How're things?"

"Better than they have been." Phox turned to face her friend. Aggie was tall by the standards of District 9. She was very thin, and her eyes held the same look of tired resignation that was shared by all the inhabitants of the district. And yet there was a warmth kindled somewhere in her retinas that seemed to promise that everything would be okay. She was older than she looked, and she looked to be one of the oldest in the district. She shifted uncomfortably under the weight of her basket.

"Here—let's swap," offered Phox, lowering her own basket from her head.

"Thank you, dear," Aggie slipped the basket from her head and placed it gently on the ground. It was heaped to the brim. She took Phox's basket with both hands and peered into it. "Dropped it again?"

Phox sighed, lifting Aggie's basket. "It's that damn whistle. It's just comes out of nowhere."

Aggie nodded. "You get used to it." They began to walk in the direction of the barns. "Have you heard the news?"

"No—is it something bad?" Phox asked.

"Probably..." Aggie sighed. "The Peacekeepers have been spreading the order that everyone is to watch the broadcasts tonight. Apparently the President will be making an important announcement."

Phox groaned. "Well, it's not going to be anything good, is it?"

"Probably not…" responded Aggie."Whatever it is, we'll get through it. We always do!" She offered Phox an encouraging smile, which Phox returned, a little half-heartedly. She had an uneasy feeling in her stomach. The current President was truly a president of the war; he rarely made any appearances in the districts, whether through the broadcast or in person. It was widely known that he didn't much care for the majority of the people of Panem, and that was precisely why he was so perfect to lead the Capitol to victory in the Dark Days. He saw the citizens of the districts as a means to an end—disposable, often a nuisance but ultimately another valuable commodity for the Capitol to harness.

Phox's smile dropped. "We don't get through it though, do we, Aggie?" She whispered. "We survive, sure, but…but we're broken." She looked around at the other women in the fields. There used to be at least a few hundred harvesters. Now there were barely fifty. District 9 had been crippled by the Uprising. So many of them had agreed with the Agitators, but they simply didn't have the strength to face the Capitol. Nero had made an example of them. When the bombs began to fall from the sky, the people of District 9 realised what a terrible mistake they had made, but by then it was too late. Hundreds died, including Phox's parents. They hadn't even been involved in the rebellion: her mother had been caught in the crossfire of the Uprising and her father had taken his own life soon after.

Aggie looked down at her friend with sad eyes. She had seen enough of the world to know that Phox was right. It had taken her half a century to come to the realisation that Phox had reached at just 16. All of the people of District 9 were broken, that was true. But this generation was completely shattered. There was no hope of fixing them.

Aggie and Phox walked the rest of the hike to the barns in near silence, listening to the dying birdsong in the approaching dusk.

In the Capitol, the preparations had been made. A crowd of gaudily-dressed citizens had gathered in front of President Nero's mansion for the announcement. They were a sea of colour, mostly pinks and greens—they were in fashion that season. Behind the great double doors that led to the balcony overlooking his gathered public, Quintilian Nero stood, arms folded, awaiting his cue. He considered what the reaction might be to the announcement he was about to make; throw in enough nationalist propaganda and the people of the Capitol would love it. The people of the districts were perhaps harder to predict, but he was confident that they would not rise up. Yes, they would comply. They would understand that the consequences of any attempt at disobedience would be without mercy.

"In three…two…one…" a pair of Avoxes swung open the great wooden doors, and Nero stepped out onto the balcony and into the welcoming applause of his citizens. He motioned for silence, and as the crowd quieted, began to speak:

"Citizens of Panem! Thank you for joining me on this momentous occasion." He paused and swept a seemingly warm gaze across the gathered crown, an expression of benevolence smeared over his face. "We live in a time of great potential. The people of Panem have never been so united in their love for one another. It was only through co-operation that we were able to overcome the terrorist threat that the Agitators posed; they wished for nothing but destruction. But now, together, we will strive for growth." The President paused for the rapturous applause that now erupted from the crowd.

"And so, to commemorate our unity and our willingness to die for the country that nurtures and cherishes its people, I would like to announce the beginning of a tradition that I hope will endure for centuries to come: a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice. This pageant will remind us of the honour earned by the heroes that fought so valiantly for their country, the courage they displayed in this fight, and the great sacrifice that so many thousands of them made in laying down their lives so that you might live to see another day.

"This pageant shall take the form of a game; The Hunger Games." The crowd cheered once again. Nero smiled warmly down the single eye of the broadcasting camera. "The first of these Games shall take place in exactly three months' time. At an annual 'reaping', each district shall offer up in sacrifice one boy and one girl, between the ages of 12 and 18, to take part in a valiant fight to the death. The last tribute remaining shall win their life, eternal fame, and limitless riches to remind their home district of the generosity of the Capitol. The Games shall be televised live throughout Panem and be a cause for great celebration. We shall celebrate our unity, the bright future of Panem, and above all the devotion of the districts to their glorious protectors. Happy Hunger Games, my friends, and may the odds be ever in your favour."

In District 9, the few hundred people gathered in the square in front of the Justice Building stared in silence at the now black screen from which the terrible announcement had been made. All of them were paralysed with dread. The President's trademark catchphrase still echoed through the square: may the odds be ever in your favour. The odds were not in their favour today. They never had been, and many suspected that they never would be. They weren't surprised by this retaliation of the state, they knew that there would be dire consequences to the failure of the Uprising, but had never expected that the President would target their children. They knew that this was the final nail in the coffin of the rebellion. They knew that the Capitol had absolute power. They knew that there was nothing they could do.

Stood somewhere amongst the stunned crowd was Phox. She suddenly realised that she had been holding her breath since Nero had announced the the Games would be a 'fight to the death'. She was terrified—not for herself, but for her twelve year-old brother, Hound. She had no other family. She felt Hound's unruly hair brush her shoulder, and reached an arm out to pull him close to her side. He was crying.

"Why would they do this?" He asked, choking on the words. Phox looked up at the white-suited Peacekeepers surrounding the square, and then back down at her brother. She could not speak freely for fear of being overheard. She went down on one knee and put a hand on either of her little brother's shoulders. He was thin. Very thin. Like the other citizens of District 9, he had a full head of sun-bleached blonde hair. It was too long, and fell into his innocent blue eyes.

"Because they can. Because they are in charge and because they want the people in the districts to know it." Hound sobbed.

Phox hugged her brother close.

"We'll be fine, I promise." As she spoke the words, there was a twinge of dread in her stomach. She knew it was a promise that she had no power to keep.


End file.
